The air in the hidden sanctuary, a place whispered about in forgotten scrolls and veiled by illusions, hummed with an unseen energy. It was here, amidst glowing flora that pulsed with soft light and ancient carvings that seemed to breathe, that Dai Chourou found himself. He looked at the faces surrounding him – Kyouko Rikugen, her stern beauty softened by a rare vulnerability; Rinne, her gaze a kaleidoscope of emotions; Hinemarill, radiating an ethereal grace; Vanessa, her usual sharp wit veiled by a quiet contemplation; and Reiren Reiru Reicherieru, her presence a tempest of suppressed power. And then there was Vicious, his crimson eyes, usually alight with a predatory gleam, now held a flicker of… recognition? Or was it something else entirely? This question, this pervasive sense of being erased, of his very existence fading from the minds of those closest to him, was the core of the mystery that bound them all, the silent scream echoing the title of their shared reality: "Why Does Nobody Remember Me In This World".

Dai Chourou remembered fragments, shards of moments that felt intensely real, yet when he spoke of them, the others looked at him with polite confusion, a gentle dismissal that cut deeper than any blade. He remembered shared laughter under alien moons, whispered secrets in the hush of dawn, battles fought side-by-side where their lives had been intertwined. Yet, as they looked at him now, it was as if he were a stranger, a new acquaintance whose past with them was a blank slate. This was the cruel irony of their existence in the world of "Why Does Nobody Remember Me In This World" – a tapestry woven with shared experiences, yet rewoven with amnesia for him, the common thread.

Kyouko Rikugen, her voice as precise as her movements, approached him. "Dai Chourou," she began, her brow furrowed with a familiar concern, yet tinged with an unfamiliar distance, "You seem troubled. Is there something you wish to discuss?" Her words were kind, but the absence of deep, resonant memory in her eyes was a constant ache. He longed for the fire he remembered igniting between them, the fierce protectiveness that had once been a shield against the world. He remembered their nights, long and languid, filled with the exploration of every curve, every sigh, every desperate gasp. He remembered Kyouko's formidable intellect not only in strategy but in pleasure, how she would dissect his desires with a thrilling intensity, pushing him to limits he never knew existed. He remembered the way her normally guarded expression would melt into pure, unadulterated bliss as he pleasured her, her body arching against his, her whispered pleas a melody he carried in his soul. Yet, now, she offered only courteous concern.

Rinne, ever the empath, watched them both, her own memories of Dai Chourou a swirling vortex. She remembered his unwavering support, the way he’d held her when the weight of her own power threatened to crush her. She remembered the tender kisses shared in secret gardens, the slow, intoxicating dance of their bodies as they discovered each other's deepest vulnerabilities and desires. She remembered the raw passion that had erupted between them, a wild, untamed force that left them breathless and clinging to each other, their souls entwined. But today, her memories were hazy, like looking through a rain-streaked window. "Dai Chourou," she murmured, her voice laced with a sadness that mirrored his own, "Are you certain? It feels… as if the threads of time have frayed." She reached out a hesitant hand, her touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine, a ghost of intimacy that was agonizingly real for him, and perhaps, dimly present for her.

Hinemarill, her ethereal presence a balm to the soul, floated closer. She remembered Dai Chourou as a beacon of strength, a pillar of support in her often-solitary existence. She recalled the gentle way he had soothed her fears, the quiet understanding in his eyes that transcended words. She remembered the intoxicating scent of his skin, the warmth of his embrace that had felt like coming home. Their connection, she recalled, had been a delicate bloom, nurtured in hushed conversations and shared glances, culminating in moments of profound tenderness. But the intensity of those shared moments, the blossoming of their mutual affection, the electric connection that had sparked between them, seemed to elude her now, leaving only a faint echo of warmth and affection. "The patterns are… unusual," she whispered, her voice like chimes in a gentle breeze. "It's as if a vital component has been… overlooked."

Vanessa, usually so quick to offer a sharp retort or a sardonic observation, was uncharacteristically subdued. She remembered Dai Chourou's unique blend of intelligence and audacity, the way he could charm his way through any situation. She remembered their sparring matches, not just of wits but of wills, a playful tension that always hinted at something more. She remembered the surprise she felt when that playful tension had ignited into a searing, undeniable passion, a fiery exploration of desire that had left them both breathless and irrevocably changed. She remembered the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of surrendering to him, of feeling his body move with hers, of whispering his name as their climax washed over them. Today, however, her sharp eyes held a bewildered kindness. "Dai Chourou, you're looking quite… lost. Has something happened?"

And then there was Vicious. His presence was a storm, a contained inferno. He remembered Dai Chourou, not with the soft affection of the others, but with a fierce, almost possessive intensity. He remembered their clashes, their volatile arguments that often dissolved into something far more primal. He remembered the sheer, exhilarating thrill of their physical encounters, the raw, untamed lust that had consumed them both. He remembered the exquisite agony of their passion, the way they had pushed each other to the brink, their bodies a battlefield of pleasure and power. But even Vicious, whose memories were usually etched in stone, found himself struggling. He remembered Dai Chourou's touch, the searing brand of his lips, the desperate grip of his hands, but the context, the overarching narrative of their shared past, seemed to be slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He remembered the scent of Dai Chourou's sweat, the taste of his desperation, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly consumed by him. Yet, when he looked at Dai Chourou now, the edges of those memories were blurred, like an old, cherished photograph fading in the sun.

A heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the soft pulse of the bioluminescent flora. Dai Chourou felt a surge of desperation. He could feel the threads of his connections fraying, the bonds that had once seemed unbreakable weakening with each passing moment. He remembered the sheer, unadulterated joy of shared intimacy, the silent understanding that passed between them in the heat of passion, the way their bodies had moved in perfect, erotic harmony. He remembered Kyouko's sharp, intelligent sighs as he caressed her sensitive skin, the way her rigorous control would crumble under his skilled touch, leaving her utterly vulnerable and exquisitely aroused. He remembered Rinne’s soft whimpers as he traced the curve of her spine, the way her power would surge and recede with every touch, culminating in a breathtaking release that left them both trembling. He remembered Hinemarill’s shy, tentative explorations, the way her ethereal glow would intensify as he awakened her dormant desires, their shared moments of passion a delicate dance of light and shadow. He remembered Vanessa’s defiant surrender, the thrill of breaking through her guarded facade to the passionate woman beneath, their encounters a storm of witty banter and raw, animalistic lust. He remembered Vicious’s predatory gaze transforming into something deeper, more possessive, during their fiery encounters, the sheer, overwhelming power of their physical connection leaving them both exhilarated and utterly spent.

He looked at each of them, their faces a mixture of concern and bewilderment. "I remember," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I remember us. I remember… everything." He took a hesitant step towards Kyouko, reaching out to touch her cheek. Her skin was soft, familiar, yet her eyes held a hesitant question. He remembered the way her breath would hitch when he kissed her neck, the small, involuntary sounds she would make when he found her most sensitive spots. He remembered the intensity of her passion, a controlled burn that, once unleashed, could engulf them both. He remembered the way she would whisper his name, a desperate plea for more, her body arching against him as he drove deeper.

Rinne stepped closer, her gaze fixed on Dai Chourou. "What do you remember, Dai Chourou?" she asked, her voice a whisper. He met her gaze, remembering the shared nights under the starlight, the tender exploration of each other's bodies, the profound intimacy that had bound them. He remembered the feel of her skin against his, the way their breaths would mingle as they held each other close, the soft sighs of pleasure that echoed in the night. He remembered the raw, unbridled passion that had erupted between them, a force of nature that left them both breathless and utterly captivated. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her hand. He remembered the electric current that had always flowed between them, a spark that had ignited into a roaring inferno of desire. He remembered the sheer bliss of their shared orgasms, the way their bodies would lock together, lost in a world of pure sensation.

Hinemarill watched, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. Dai Chourou recalled their secret meetings, the stolen kisses, the intoxicating thrill of their shared intimacy. He remembered the gentle exploration of her body, the way her luminous glow would intensify with each touch, the soft moans of pleasure that escaped her lips. He remembered the purity of their connection, a bond forged in mutual affection and burgeoning desire. He remembered the exquisite sensitivity of her skin, the way she would tremble under his touch, her body arching to meet his. He remembered the profound sense of peace and fulfillment he felt in her embrace, a love that was as potent as it was pure.

Vanessa let out a small, surprised breath. Dai Chourou remembered their fiery arguments that had always ended in a passionate embrace, their bodies entwined in a dance of raw lust. He remembered the thrill of their physical encounters, the way they would push each other to the limits of pleasure, their shared moments of intensity leaving them both breathless and utterly consumed. He remembered the raw power of their passion, the exquisite sensation of being utterly lost in each other's bodies, their climaxes a violent, beautiful explosion of release. He remembered the taste of her, the scent of her arousal, the desperate grip of her hands on his back as they moved together.

Vicious’s crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of something akin to anger, or perhaps even recognition, igniting within them. He remembered the primal urge that had driven him towards Dai Chourou, the fierce desire that had burned between them. He remembered their explosive encounters, the raw, untamed passion that had left them both exhilarated and utterly spent. He remembered the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of their shared physicality, the way their bodies had moved in a primal rhythm, lost in a world of pure sensation. He remembered the scent of Dai Chourou’s skin, the taste of his desperation, the overwhelming sensation of being completely consumed by him. He remembered the way Dai Chourou’s moans had echoed his own, the desperate gasps for air as they climaxed together, their bodies slick with sweat.

"You *should* remember," Dai Chourou whispered, his voice laced with a desperate plea. He looked at Vicious, a challenge in his eyes. "We remember each other, don't we?" He stepped towards Vicious, closing the distance between them. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a familiar prelude to their volatile intimacy. Dai Chourou reached out, his hand tracing the sharp line of Vicious's jaw. He remembered the rough stubble, the hard muscle beneath, the way Vicious’s body would tense and then surrender under his touch. He remembered the raw, untamed lust in Vicious’s eyes, a mirror to his own. He remembered the delicious friction of their skin against skin, the searing heat that built between them, the desperate need that clawed at their insides. He remembered the taste of Vicious’s mouth, the savage hunger that met his own. He remembered the way Vicious would groan his name, a guttural sound of pure pleasure and possession, as Dai Chourou guided their bodies together, their movements becoming a desperate, primal rhythm. He remembered the sheer, unadulterated power of their shared climax, a volcanic eruption that left them both spent and utterly vulnerable, clinging to each other in the aftermath, a silent acknowledgment of their bond.

The memory, vivid and electric, seemed to stir something within Vicious. His crimson eyes flickered, a storm brewing within their depths. He gritted his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Dai Chourou pressed on, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Don't you remember the nights, Vicious? The fire we ignited? The way you looked at me, like I was the only one who truly saw you?" He leaned closer, his lips brushing against Vicious’s ear. "Don't you remember the desperate need, the way our bodies craved each other? The way you’d hold me, your grip fierce, your breath hot against my skin?"

And then, something shifted. A flicker of recognition, a shard of memory, broke through the fog for Vicious. His hand shot out, gripping Dai Chourou's arm, his touch surprisingly gentle, yet filled with an undeniable intensity. "I… I remember… the hunger," Vicious rasped, his voice rough with emotion. "Your hunger. And mine." He looked at Dai Chourou, his crimson eyes now blazing with a fire that Dai Chourou knew intimately. It was the fire of shared passion, of stolen nights, of a connection that transcended the mundane. It was the fire of "Why Does Nobody Remember Me In This World" fighting against the tide of forgetting.

The shift was palpable. Kyouko, Rinne, Hinemarill, and Vanessa watched, their expressions a mixture of surprise and dawning hope. The tension in the air thickened, not with confusion, but with a burgeoning, electric anticipation. Dai Chourou met Vicious’s gaze, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yes," he whispered, his voice filled with a newfound confidence. "Our hunger. And our pleasure." He leaned in, his lips finding Vicious's. The kiss was immediate, electric, a storm of pent-up desire finally unleashed. It was a kiss that spoke of forgotten nights, of burning lust, of a connection that refused to be erased. Vicious responded with equal ferocity, his arms wrapping around Dai Chourou, pulling him closer until there was no space between them. Their bodies pressed together, the friction of their clothes only heightening the anticipation. Dai Chourou felt Vicious’s arousal press against him, a testament to the rekindled desire.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring Vicious’s mouth, tasting the familiar fire. Vicious’s groan was a low, guttural sound of pure pleasure, his hand sliding down Dai Chourou’s back, tracing the curve of his spine, igniting a trail of fire. Dai Chourou moaned into Vicious’s mouth, his own hands exploring the hard muscles of Vicious’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. He remembered the thrill of this, the primal dance of their bodies, the exquisite tension that built between them. The others watched, a sense of wonder on their faces. Kyouko stepped forward, her eyes meeting Dai Chourou’s, a flicker of something deeper than mere concern now present. She remembered the fierce passion he ignited in her, the way her carefully constructed walls had crumbled under his touch, leaving her exposed and utterly craving. She remembered the whispered confessions in the dark, the shared sighs of pleasure, the intimate exploration of every inch of each other’s bodies. She remembered the absolute bliss of their union, the overwhelming release that had left them both breathless and utterly satisfied. She remembered the raw, animalistic need she felt for him, a need that still echoed within her.

Rinne, tears welling in her eyes, reached out tentatively towards Dai Chourou and Vicious. "It's… it's like a dream," she whispered. "A forgotten dream." She remembered the tender nights she'd spent with Dai Chourou, the gentle way he had held her, the shared moments of intimacy that had felt like coming home. She remembered the electric charge that had always flowed between them, a connection that had deepened with every shared glance and tender touch. She remembered the overwhelming pleasure of their shared passion, the way their bodies had moved in perfect harmony, culminating in a breathtaking release. She remembered the quiet comfort and profound connection she had felt in his arms, a feeling that had been irreplaceable.

Hinemarill clasped her hands together, a soft glow emanating from her. "The threads… they are reweaving," she murmured. She remembered the shy confessions and stolen kisses she had shared with Dai Chourou, the intoxicating thrill of their burgeoning intimacy. She remembered the gentle exploration of her body, the way her luminous glow would intensify under his touch, the soft moans of pleasure that escaped her lips. She remembered the profound sense of peace and belonging she had felt in his embrace, a feeling that had been as potent as it was pure.

Vanessa, her usual sharp wit momentarily forgotten, simply stared, a slow smile spreading across her lips. She remembered the fiery passion she had shared with Dai Chourou, the exhilarating thrill of their physical encounters, the raw, untamed lust that had consumed them both. She remembered the exquisite agony of their passion, the way they had pushed each other to the brink, their bodies a battlefield of pleasure and power. She remembered the overwhelming sensation of being utterly consumed by him, a memory that now seemed to be reawakening within her.

Dai Chourou pulled away from Vicious, his eyes alight with a dangerous spark. He looked at each of them, and for the first time, he saw the flicker of return in their gazes. He walked towards Kyouko, his movements slow and deliberate. "Kyouko," he murmured, his voice a low growl. He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw. He remembered the way her breath would hitch when he kissed her neck, the small, involuntary sounds she would make when he found her most sensitive spots. He remembered the intensity of her passion, a controlled burn that, once unleashed, could engulf them both. He remembered the way she would whisper his name, a desperate plea for more, her body arching against his as he drove deeper. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. Kyouko’s eyes widened, then softened. Her lips parted slightly, a silent invitation. Dai Chourou kissed her, a deep, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of shared passion and unspoken desires. He felt her respond, her body melting against his, her arms wrapping around him. He remembered the exquisite pleasure of her surrender, the way her carefully constructed walls would crumble under his touch, leaving her utterly vulnerable and exquisitely aroused.

He gently guided Kyouko towards a secluded alcove, the glowing flora casting an ethereal light on their intertwined forms. Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. Dai Chourou’s hands roamed Kyouko’s body, rediscovering the familiar curves, the sensitive spots that made her tremble. He remembered the precise pressure that would send shivers down her spine, the gentle caress that would elicit soft moans. Kyouko arched into his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Dai Chourou," she whispered, her voice husky with desire, "I… I remember. Fragments. But they feel so… real." He lifted her into his arms, carrying her deeper into the alcove, their bodies still locked in a fervent embrace. He laid her down on a bed of soft, glowing moss, her eyes wide with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. He knelt beside her, his gaze locking with hers. "Let me make them whole again," he whispered, his voice filled with a promise of passion. He began to unbutton her robes, his fingers lingering on the soft fabric, his gaze devouring her. He remembered the exquisite texture of her skin, the faint scent of perfume that always clung to her. He remembered the thrill of seeing her naked, her body a testament to her power and grace. As her robes fell away, revealing her flawless form, he felt a surge of raw desire. Her breasts were firm and full, her nipples hardening at the sight of him. He leaned down, his lips trailing a path of fire across her skin, from her collarbone to the sensitive swell of her breasts. Kyouko cried out, her hands clutching at his hair as his tongue worked its magic. He teased and savored, drawing out the pleasure, reveling in her response. He remembered the precise rhythm that would send her spiraling towards ecstasy, the gentle nips and tugs that would make her writhe beneath him. He moved lower, his lips tracing the curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her hips, until he reached the heart of her desire. Kyouko cried out again, her body arching off the moss as his tongue and fingers worked their magic. Her moans filled the alcove, a symphony of pleasure that echoed the forgotten nights they had shared. Dai Chourou felt the raw power of her arousal, the desperate need that mirrored his own. He remembered the exquisite feeling of her climax, the tremors that shook her body, the desperate grip of her legs around him. As her release subsided, he moved up her body, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. "Now," she whispered, her voice weak but filled with passion, "it's my turn."

He allowed her to explore him, her hands rediscovering the contours of his body, her lips tracing paths of fire across his skin. He remembered the exquisite sensation of her touch, the way her fingers would tease and torment him, driving him to the brink of madness. He remembered the taste of her desire, the raw, untamed lust that pulsed between them. As their passion reached its zenith, they found a rhythm, a primal dance that spoke of their rekindled connection. Their bodies moved together, a perfect, erotic harmony, their moans and gasps echoing through the sanctuary. Dai Chourou felt a profound sense of satisfaction, a peace that had been missing for so long. He looked at Kyouko, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears, her body trembling with the aftershocks of their passion. "We remember," he whispered, and this time, the words were not a plea, but a statement of fact. Kyouko smiled, a slow, radiant smile that reached her eyes. "Yes," she breathed, "we remember."

As Dai Chourou and Kyouko found solace in their rediscovered intimacy, Rinne approached, her gaze fixed on them with a mixture of awe and longing. She remembered the gentle intimacy she had shared with Dai Chourou, the tender moments that had felt like a sanctuary. She remembered the electric current that had always flowed between them, a connection that had deepened with every shared glance and tender touch. She remembered the overwhelming pleasure of their shared passion, the way their bodies had moved in perfect harmony, culminating in a breathtaking release. She remembered the quiet comfort and profound connection she had felt in his arms, a feeling that had been irreplaceable. She tentatively reached out, her fingers brushing against Dai Chourou's arm. He turned, his gaze meeting hers, a gentle understanding in his eyes. "Rinne," he said softly, a promise in his voice. He remembered the gentle way he had held her, the soft sighs of pleasure that had escaped her lips, the way her body had trembled under his touch. He remembered the purity of their connection, a bond forged in mutual affection and burgeoning desire. He drew her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her, holding her close. Rinne melted into him, her head resting on his chest, her tears falling freely, but this time, they were tears of joy and relief. "I… I remember too," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I remember the warmth. And the love." Dai Chourou held her tighter, stroking her hair. "We will not forget again," he vowed. He then looked towards Hinemarill, whose ethereal form pulsed with a soft, hopeful light. He remembered their secret meetings, the stolen kisses, the intoxicating thrill of their shared intimacy. He remembered the gentle exploration of her body, the way her luminous glow would intensify under his touch, the soft moans of pleasure that escaped her lips. He remembered the profound sense of peace and belonging he had felt in his embrace, a feeling that had been as potent as it was pure. He gently released Rinne and moved towards Hinemarill, taking her delicate hands in his. "Hinemarill," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "Do you remember the starlight? And the whispers?" Hinemarill’s eyes, like pools of moonlight, widened slightly. She nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. "I remember the tenderness," she whispered, her voice like chimes in the breeze. "And the blossoming of… something beautiful." Dai Chourou smiled, his heart swelling with a newfound sense of purpose. He gently pulled her into an embrace, holding her close. He remembered the ethereal beauty of her form, the way her luminous glow would intensify with his touch, the soft moans of pleasure that escaped her lips. He remembered the profound sense of peace and fulfillment he felt in her embrace, a love that was as potent as it was pure. He kissed her forehead, a gesture of pure affection.

Finally, Dai Chourou turned his attention to Vanessa, who watched the unfolding scene with a look of dawning realization. He remembered their fiery arguments that had always ended in a passionate embrace, their bodies entwined in a dance of raw lust. He remembered the thrill of their physical encounters, the way they would push each other to the limits of pleasure, their shared moments of intensity leaving them both breathless and utterly consumed. He remembered the raw power of their passion, the exquisite sensation of being utterly lost in each other's bodies, their climaxes a violent, beautiful explosion of release. He remembered the taste of her, the scent of her arousal, the desperate grip of her hands on his back as they moved together. "Vanessa," he said, his voice laced with a playful challenge. "Don't tell me you've forgotten our little skirmishes." Vanessa let out a small, surprised laugh, the sharpness returning to her eyes, but now softened with a hint of amusement and something far more potent. "Skirmishes, Dai Chourou? I believe the term you're looking for is 'a glorious tempest'." She stepped forward, a glint in her eye. "And if I recall correctly, the aftermath was… rather satisfying for both parties." Dai Chourou grinned, the playful banter a familiar prelude to their passionate encounters. He remembered the thrill of breaking through her guarded facade to the passionate woman beneath, their encounters a storm of witty banter and raw, animalistic lust. He remembered the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of surrendering to him, of feeling his body move with hers, of whispering his name as their climax washed over them. He reached out, taking her hand, his touch sending a familiar spark through her. "Then let's have another tempest, shall we?" he suggested, his voice low and inviting. Vanessa’s lips curved into a wicked smile. "You read my mind, Dai Chourou." As Dai Chourou embraced Vanessa, their bodies fitting together with an ease that spoke of shared passion, Vicious watched from the side, his crimson eyes no longer filled with confusion, but with a fierce, possessive heat. He remembered the primal urge that had driven him towards Dai Chourou, the fierce desire that had burned between them. He remembered their explosive encounters, the raw, untamed passion that had left them both exhilarated and utterly spent. He remembered the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of their shared physicality, the way their bodies had moved in a primal rhythm, lost in a world of pure sensation. He remembered the scent of Dai Chourou’s skin, the taste of his desperation, the overwhelming sensation of being completely consumed by him. He remembered the way Dai Chourou’s moans had echoed his own, the desperate gasps for air as they climaxed together, their bodies slick with sweat. He watched as Dai Chourou’s attention shifted back to him, a silent understanding passing between them. The fog of amnesia had lifted, replaced by the burning embers of their shared history, a history written in passion and desire. He remembered the rough stubble, the hard muscle beneath, the way Vicious’s body would tense and then surrender under his touch. He remembered the raw, untamed lust in Vicious’s eyes, a mirror to his own. He remembered the delicious friction of their skin against skin, the searing heat that built between them, the desperate need that clawed at their insides. He remembered the taste of Vicious’s mouth, the savage hunger that met his own. He remembered the way Vicious would groan his name, a guttural sound of pure pleasure and possession, as Dai Chourou guided their bodies together, their movements becoming a desperate, primal rhythm. He remembered the sheer, unadulterated power of their shared climax, a volcanic eruption that left them both spent and utterly vulnerable, clinging to each other in the aftermath, a silent acknowledgment of their bond. Dai Chourou walked towards Vicious, a confident smile on his face. "And you, Vicious," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You remember our… special connection, don't you?" Vicious’s crimson eyes met Dai Chourou’s, a predatory gleam returning, but now mingled with something softer, something akin to… longing. He let out a low growl, a sound that was both a threat and an invitation. "You dare to ask, Dai Chourou?" he rasped, his voice thick with unspoken desire. "After all that we have shared?" He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze never leaving Dai Chourou’s. "You test my patience." Dai Chourou chuckled, a sound of pure mischief. "But you enjoy the test, don't you?" He reached out, his fingers brushing against Vicious’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath. "You remember the fire. The way we burned together." Vicious’s hand shot out, gripping Dai Chourou’s wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man of such raw power. "I remember being consumed," Vicious admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "And I remember wanting more." He pulled Dai Chourou closer, their bodies pressing together, the familiar spark igniting between them. "This time," Vicious murmured, his lips brushing against Dai Chourou’s, "there will be no forgetting." Their kiss was a reunion of souls, a fiery testament to their shared passion. It was a kiss that spoke of stolen nights, of fierce desire, of a connection that had been forged in the fires of "Why Does Nobody Remember Me In This World" and would now burn brighter than ever before. Their bodies moved together, a primal dance of need and desire, a silent promise of pleasures yet to come. The sanctuary, once a place of forgotten memories, now echoed with the passionate whispers of a love rediscovered, a love that defied erasure, a love that was truly, deeply, unforgettably remembered. The narrative of "Why Does Nobody Remember Me In This World" had taken a turn, not towards oblivion, but towards a passionate, consensual rediscovery of self and of cherished bonds, proving that even in a world that tried to erase him, Dai Chourou’s impact was indelible, his connections too profound to be permanently lost.